


the curlew calls

by brawlite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Apologies to EVERYONE, Bloodplay mention, Bottom Hux, Bottom Kylo Ren, Desperation, Dubious Consent, Forced Drinking, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Loss of Control, M/M, Omorashi, Spanking, Watersports, but especially apologies to henry wadsworth longfellow, choose your own adventure honestly: who pisses themselves, dead dove do not eat, dubious consent involving alcohol and drugs, inappropriate use of chess as a distraction tactic, misuse of poetry, only sin, references to gore and also maybe some vore, so many water metaphors it is ridiculous, there is nothing good to be found here, way too much sin, wow this is just really not a happy place to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a loss of control in two parts</p><p>(a choose-your-own desperation fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. introduction

**Author's Note:**

> this is a piss desperation fic that centers mostly on the desperation aspect of absolute control. but, if the idea of watersports bothers you, consider that this may not be for you.
> 
> read one chapter or the other, or both for double the sin.

**the tide rises, the tide falls**  
by henry wadsworth longfellow 

 _the tide rises, the tide falls,_  
_the twilight darkens, the curlew calls;_  
_along the sea-sands damp and brown_  
_the traveller hastens toward the town,_  
_and the tide rises, the tide falls._

 _darkness settles on roofs and walls,_  
_but the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;_  
_the little waves, with their soft, white hands,_  
_efface the footprints in the sands,_  
_and the tide rises, the tide falls._

 _the morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls_  
_stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;_  
_the day returns, but nevermore_  
_returns the traveller to the shore,_  
_and the tide rises, the tide falls._

 

**a choose your own desperation adventure fic in two parts:**

**part i for:** late night chess, too many alcoholic drinks, a liberal use of the force, a mischievous kylo ren, and a desperate hux.

 **part ii for:** a mission gone awry, a spiraling kylo ren, too much water and also a drugged liquid, a steady and in control hux, and a desperate kylo ren.

 **bonus:**  read both for double the sin.


	2. part i: the tide rises

“Get out of my quarters.”

Kylo Ren only advances. A steady progression toward Hux, unstoppable like the tide. 

Hux swallows the knot in his throat, tries to will his lungs to stay firmly rooted inside his chest. They exist there between his ribs, held firm by muscle and sinew and tissue -- and yet, he can feel them creeping toward his throat, inhibiting his ability to breathe, his ability to think. He can feel them, ripped upward by the force -- he imagines, briefly, the way that would feel. To have Ren pull his organs from him, one by one, through his mouth. He imagines the blood on his tongue, the copper taste of it in his mouth.

Ren, like rising waters, edges steadily closer, cornering Hux with his bulk.

It’s unfortunate, really, that Ren is capable of such strength. Of such ferocity. And of such heinousness that Hux never knows what atrocities to expect from him. Ren could easily tear him open at the seams, and it would be difficult to find any surprise left inside himself.

“Get out.” Hux’s voice is steady. It does not betray the quickening beat of his heart or the cold dread inching up his neck. No, the set of his shoulders is firm and the set of his mouth brooking no argument. His eyes remain cold, uncaring and uninterested. Ren, if he is intent on cheating his way into something, will have to dig deep through layers of grey apathy to find anything resembling fear inside of Hux.

Ren does not get out like he was so kindly asked. He does not leave. He only crowds into Hux’s space, leaning in too close with that infuriating helmet of his. 

“Don't be so rash, General. Invite me to stay for a drink.”

“No.” No, he's not playing this game with Ren tonight; he's exhausted -- they both are. Hux isn’t in the mood to have Ren goad him into a few drinks, and then a few more. Until they're both fumbling for words and also purchase. If Hux is being honest, he's always the one with looser hands and even looser morals by the end of the night. 

“Invite me to stay for a drink, General.” Hux can hear the smirk in the words, but the tone hardly matters at this point. 

“Why don't you stay for a drink?”

“Thank you. That sounds lovely.”

Ren slides his cursed helmet off, shaking his hair loose and free. Hux’s eyes shouldn't catch on the dark waves of his hair, but they do. He knows how smooth it is underneath his fingers, how easy it is to pull. 

“And my drink is...where, exactly?”

Hux frowns. But at this point, there's no getting rid of Ren until the other man wants to leave. His presence is an unfortunate inevitability. So, Hux pours Ren a drink. Before he can sit and wait for Ren to finish his drink and leave, the infuriating man says  _ I’m not drinking alone _ , and suddenly Hux is sitting across from him with a drink of his own.

“I’m not very thirsty.” Perhaps he can weasel his way out of this encounter after one drink and can then retire for the evening. The siren song of sleep floats effortlessly through his tired muscles.

“You’re very thirsty.”

“I suppose I am rather thirsty.”

It is exactly that sort of burdensome influence that has Hux on his third drink before the hour is complete. After all, he  _ is _ rather thirsty, and the liquid flows down his throat so smoothly. It begins to quench the thirst he suddenly feels deep down to his bones.

He and Kylo Ren -- they are always at each other’s throats, near constantly going straight for the jugular with sharp teeth, barbed insults, and calculated digs. But, when prompted with necessity, they have little problem coming up with topics of conversation interesting enough to warrant hours of moderately civil discussion. Ren is neither dull nor uneducated; he is simply uncivilized. Poor company to keep unless needs must, and then he is tolerable.

They discuss politics. Military strategy. The dreadful climate of the ship itself. On Hux’s fourth drink, he finds himself playing chess across from Ren. He also finds himself looking upon the other man, letting his eyes languidly trail over the sharp angles of his face. Ren isn’t a classically beautiful man, but he is certainly stunning in his own regard. The more Hux looks upon him, the more attractive he becomes. It’s really quite dreadful.

Ren tops off Hux’s glass. 

“I’ve had enough, Ren.” The fatigue Hux felt earlier has slowly peeled off his extremities by this point, part due to the effects of the alcohol, and part due to simple relaxation and decent conversation -- but it is still late. He has a schedule to maintain. A ship to run.

“Have you?” Ren’s eyebrows quirk up slightly, though Hux feels no pull of the force from his voice this time. Thank the stars. There is only the lingering dusting of thirst over his tongue -- almost fully quenched at this hour.

“It’s late.” It’s difficult, however, to keep the malice laced in his voice with Ren looking at him the way he is: hungry and wanting. Ren’s eyes are always so expressive. It’s impossible to ignore the intent of them when Ren is not cloaked with his usual mask, closed off from the rest of the world. It is so very rare that Hux gets to see him like this -- loose and tranquil. There is no air of violence around the other man, no intent to strike. He simply seems amused, watching Hux with no real sense of urgency despite the desire in his eyes.

“It is.” Ren agrees, though he makes no move to leave. He simply pushes Hux’s glass toward him on the table. The liquid itself is pink and it moves fluidly when Ren moves it, viscous in nature. It smells of honey and of flowering trees that Hux remembers from his childhood: it’s always been Hux’s preferred drink, mixed in with a drop of something sparkling to cut the indulgent, syrupy taste. Ren hadn’t dictated which drink to pour, but Hux had still gone with his favorite for both himself and for Ren. It feels like a small extravagance. And also, perhaps, a bit like divulging a secret.

And so he drinks.

The game of chess progresses.

Hux is eventually victorious.

Ren tops off Hux’s glass once more, a conciliatory smile budding at the corners of his lips. 

They play again.

Midway through the second game, after Hux has captured one of Ren’s bishops with ease, the other man leans across the board and draws two fingers down Hux’s jaw. Then, down his throat. His touch is light, reverent. Ren pauses over Hux’s jugular, fingertips feeling a few beats of his heart before he removes his hand completely.

“What was that for?” Hux is warm all over, his thoughts cottony with the pull of alcohol. He couldn’t help but lean into Ren’s touch while it had happened, and he can’t help but miss it, now. It’s been at least an hour since he tried to force Ren from his room for the sake of sleep and also propriety, and he hasn’t thought once more about the other man leaving.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” 

Ren looks not at all curious -- likely, he already knows the answer to his question and is simply asking as a matter of course. For his companion’s sake. Hux pauses to consider the answer regardless, perhaps for show and also perhaps because he hasn’t yet bothered to examine his own mental state; he doesn’t do so often. He accepts life as it happens, exerting his force over it when he has the chance. He knows, by merit of many previous encounters, there is little force he can exert over Ren when the other man has his mind set. On reflection, Hux finds that his original reluctance has faded into insignificance by this point -- and he does appear to be enjoying himself. His mind is without any bothersome reminder of the trials and tribulations of work, and instead he’s pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol. The conversation, as well as the chess game had been stimulating enough, so he doesn’t feel particularly lacking. 

“I suppose the evening is not particularly intolerable.” Ren looks pleased. “However, I should excuse myself to use the refresher.” He has had a considerable number of drinks at this point -- it’s hard to keep count when Ren keeps filling his glass to the brim every few minutes.

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

Hux sighs. He eyes the expensive marble chess board and their half-complete game, and then looks to the door that leads to the refresher. It’s not many steps away, but there had been a deliberate intent to Ren’s voice. Hux knows that if Ren wills it, Hux wouldn’t even be able to stand until the game is complete. It’s always difficult to tell exactly  _ what _ Ren is plotting, but Hux would bet at this point that he’s angling to invite himself to spend the night. Perhaps he thinks that by the time they complete the game it will be late enough that Hux would take pity and would let him remain for the night, in his bed. Likely to keep Hux up for at least another hour with a variety of distractions.

At this point, Hux is resigned to it. But he would like to use the refresher, for the sake of his own comfort as well as his enjoyment of the game.

“I --” Before Hux can even begin to argue, Ren stands and towers across the table. The chess pieces wobble as he brushes against the board, but they do not fall. Ren catches Hux’s chin in one of his large hands, his fingers rough with callouses, and covers Hux’s lips with his own. The kiss is slow, lazy, and without Ren’s usual unhinged desire. It appears that there does exist some restraint, somewhere deep within the other man, after all. There is little use in attempting to break away in an effort to excuse himself, so Hux simply gives in. He is capable of enjoying something so base as a slow kiss even when he has another more pressing need at the forefront of his desires.

Ren takes his time, his hand eventually migrating from Hux’s chin to the back of his neck. Holding him firm in such a vulnerable place. The kiss is thorough and deep, and when Ren pulls back his lips are slick with spit. His cheeks are flushed, and the hunger in his eyes darkens his entire countenance. 

“Ren,” Hux starts, but Ren simply sits down across from him and moves a piece with purpose.

The game continues.

In an entirely un-shocking turn of events, Ren most favors his knights. Perhaps more shocking is that Hux often lets him keep said knights for most of the game, out of some sort of hideous sentimentality. 

Ren plays slowly tonight, more meticulously than usual, and it becomes more and more frustrating as Hux’s physical needs become more pressing. 

Eventually, Hux pushes his chair back and stands. He’s done with Ren’s foolish games. If the man wishes to spend the night, then he’ll spend the night. It’s no skin off Hux’s back. But he  _ is _ going to use the refresher even if it means he has to forfeit the game, much to his own displeasure. “We aren’t done.” Ren frowns.

With a gentle push, Hux topples his own king. The hard stone clinks against the cold board. “You win, Ren.” Now he will be free of this tedium, and also of Ren’s theatrics.

“We are not done, General.” 

Hux sighs when the words hit him. And he sighs again when he hazards an annoyed glance at Ren’s face. The other man doesn’t look angry in the slightest, as Hux might have thought: instead, he looks impish, devilishly playful. It’s not a look Hux is used to seeing on the other man’s face. He’s more used to seeing Ren’s lips curled in anger like a wild mutt, used to seeing his mouth froth with rage. Puckish fancy? There is no contingency plan for that in Hux’s repertoire.

Hux sidesteps the table and moves to pass Ren, but suddenly finds his legs heavier than permacrete. Luckily, he had been expecting this scenario exactly, so he easily balances himself from falling with a touch to the table beside him. “Ren,” he warns.

Ren only smiles. With a fluid movement, he fills Hux’s glass once more, this time simply with sparkling water, and passes it to him. “You’ve had a fair bit to drink. Have this, you want it.” This time, it’s one of Ren’s weighted  _ suggestions _ . Hux takes the glass and raises it to his lips, despite the fullness he already feels deep within him. The warmth of alcohol eases the action, partially bypassing the part of his brain that recoils at the thought of consuming any more liquid.

The water is fizzy and cool, and it is a welcome contrast to how hot he feels all over. He drinks the glass down in one long gulp.

Once the glass is finished, the desire to drink vanishes. Hux mentally frowns. The pressure on his abdomen feels worse now, though he knows the drink couldn’t have possibly been that fast acting. There is most certainly a mental game Ren is playing that Hux is not yet privy to the rules of, yet is still participating in. If Ren wanted Hux to know he is capable of absolute control, he didn’t have to go to such lengths: Hux was already aware of the dynamic. 

“Are you quite finished, Lord Ren?” There is annoyance in his own voice, as well as a hint of urgency he simply cannot keep out of it. His legs still feel heavy, but the pressure is becoming too difficult to ignore.

Ren stands, a considering expression fleeting over his face as he crowds into Hux’s space. The other man presses a wet kiss to Hux’s neck, his jawline, and then under his ear. “Hm,” Ren hums into his ear before drawing a slick tongue over the cartilage, dragging a sudden shiver from Hux, “No, I don’t believe I am.”

Without preamble, Ren catches him in a kiss once more. Ren’s lips, his scent and his taste, are too familiar now. Hux yields easily to the kiss and to the hands pulling at his waist, drawing him closer to the other man. Their encounters are so rote now that his body gives in with ease, folding to Ren’s whims and the easy promise of pleasure. Ren licks into his mouth, wet and greedy, and Hux can’t help but groan, grinding up against him, his predicament almost forgotten. 

Despite all his arguments, Hux cannot claim that he doesn’t enjoy this. His encounters with Ren are indulgent and unscripted, usually highly messy as well as unpredictable. They also leave Hux far more satisfied than he’s ever been, and if he’s being honest -- he craves Ren’s touch far more than he’d ever like to admit aloud. He enjoys it. But he does not  _ need _ it. Usually, the more rational part of his brain wins out -- he tells Ren ‘ _ no _ ’ and he gets his work done on time and without fuss. Hux enjoys knowing he isn’t a slave to his own desires, much less his own emotions. 

But now, with Ren licking into his mouth and biting at his lips, Hux cannot ever imagine why he would deny himself this.

Ren walks him toward the bedroom, walking backwards and leading Hux by the small of his back, as steady as slowly rising waters. Not for a moment does he break the kiss. 

However, after a few steps, Hux feels it again, the sharp press of urgency in his abdomen. It is stronger now, harder to ignore. He groans, and Ren eats the noise up. Lapping away at Hux’s lips. Hux can feel him smile. It’s humiliating. Hux pulls back, breaking the kiss with a snarl. “If you would just wait one kriffing moment, Ren.” He looks pointedly at the closed door to his refresher, but Ren grabs him by the chin again, steadying Hux’s head so he can only look at Ren.

“I don’t want to wait.” He’s still smiling, like this is all a game.

Briefly, Hux imagines the mechanics of Ren fucking into him like this, when he’s so painfully full, and the thought has him hissing and biting his lip: it’s simply not possible. “Ren,” he growls, trying for a different angle this time, “I insist. I simply must go.”

All of a sudden, he’s aware of the sudden rush of movement of them both. Ren twists him, pushes him backwards until he’s stumbling, balance lacking due to alcohol consumption -- until Hux’s back is steadied up against a wall. Hux blinks. The room shifts slightly, but he’s not that intoxicated. He curses, when he realizes his back is up against the door to the refresher. So close. “Then go.” Ren pins his wrists to the cool durasteel of the door as he speaks. His fingers are hot against Hux’s skin, filling his veins with fire and might. Ren is not letting go. 

It takes Hux a moment.

“No.” He can feel the dark flush that spreads over his face the instant he realizes Ren’s implication, his true and twisted desires for the night. “ _ Absolutely _ not.”

The other man presses him tight against the door, Hux’s own body temperature spiking with embarrassment as well as shared body heat. The cool metal against his skin intensifies the heat, making him feel more feverish. Ren rocks against him, his hardness pressing against Hux’s own; it’s shameful, is what it is. 

“You said you had to go.” 

“This is childish. I’m not playing this game with you.” 

Ren bites at his ear. He lets one of Hux’s wrists go, reaching down to cup Hux’s cock in one of those large hands. Long fingers knead him teasingly, and Hux keens. Both in desire and in desperation. “Imagine it, General. Letting go right here -- letting go  _ for me _ .”

It’s an interesting idea -- as interesting as it is absolutely appalling, anyway. Hux isn’t sure where Ren came up with it, or why he decided to force it upon Hux now, like a test. But with Ren, everything seems to be a game or some sort of meaningless diversion. Perhaps he simply wishes to see Hux crumble before him into pleading demands to be released, for Hux to lose his composure and become a sniveling mess. There’s no way of knowing for certain what Ren’s game is.

Regardless, Hux doesn’t want to give Ren any sort of satisfaction. 

But  _ stars _ , does he have to piss. “Let me use the refresher. I’m not interested in -- whatever this is.” But, when Ren strokes him experimentally through his trousers, Hux can’t help but gasp and arch into the touch instead of pushing past Ren and absconding to the other room. His knees threaten to buckle underneath him. The room sways slightly when a momentary flare of panic spikes in his chest. Perhaps Ren intends to actually  _ not _ let Hux go relieve himself in the refresher. Perhaps this isn’t all some foolhardy threat simply to make Hux wince and panic. Perhaps Ren actually intends to force Hux to defile himself here. In his clothes.

The thought that he might not make it out of this with his pride intact is unmistakably and painfully arousing. 

Anger flares between Hux’s ribs. He can’t stop the flush from deepening on his face. He can feel it creep to the tips of his ears, down his neck and to his chest. He can also feel his heart beating faster, can feel his hardness press up against where Ren is flush against him. Unbidden.

“Relax, General.” Ren coos, his words a mere whisper in Hux’s ear. The brush of air from Ren’s voice sends a shiver down Hux’s spine. The other man laps at Hux’s neck, his tongue slick and wet and utterly invasive. The feeling does nothing to relax Hux, but he can only imagine that is rather the point. Ren is awfully good at pulling reactions from Hux. And he is very clearly trying.

Ren slots a leg between Hux’s own and rocks against him. Hux can feel the press of his heavy balls against the warmth of Ren’s leg. It’s uncomfortable. Close. He feels trapped, stuck between the durasteel door and Ren’s body. 

It feels sinfully good.

The force of Ren’s body against him is painful and heady, and when Ren closes in, Hux feels far more wanton in his desperation than before. Ren slides one of those monstrously large hands down Hux’s chest until it presses flat against his abdomen, right above his bladder.

“No,” Hux whispers, knowing his eyes are too wide, his expression too showing. Stars, no. He could stop this, if he wanted to. He knows he could -- but he also knows Ren could overpower him, if he so chose. And that thought is heady, dizzying. 

“Yes,” Ren says, and slowly kneads his fingers down. The touch is intimate, exploratory -- and somehow embarrassingly clinical. Hux cannot help but be reminded of the inquisitive touch of a doctor, probing for weak spots. It -- isn’t at all unlike what Ren is doing now.

Hux feels the way his body yields to Ren’s touch, the way he submits to hot flesh. The pressure he feels spikes when Ren presses down with his too long fingers. Kneading down rhythmically into flesh and muscle. It’s so much. Eventually, Ren snakes his hand under Hux’s shirt, his skin so warm, so distracting. So invasive. 

“Come on, General. Allow yourself this.” Those kneading fingers press down harder and Ren rocks against him with more force. Hux cannot help it; he whimpers. He bites down on the next sound that threatens to escape him, thoroughly embarrassed by himself. “You’re so full.” Ren says it like it’s a marvel, like Hux is a priceless work of art underneath his fingertips. Hux feels his face flush. Somehow, like this, Ren manages to make him feel worshiped. 

Hux shudders, “I can’t.” It’s true -- he cannot. He cannot allow himself to slip so far, to defile himself in such a way. He cannot let Ren do this to him. But it’s hard to break from his mind now that he’s thought of it, hard to not imagine falling to pieces at Ren’s hands. He has never yielded so much to anyone before, and the sheer idea of it is intoxicating. He chokes, imagining the warmth spreading over his crotch if he were to let go, imagines the leg of Ren’s trousers soaking with his mess. “I  _ can’t. _ ” But stars, does he suddenly want to.

Ren presses the heel of his hand down, rocking up against Hux with his thigh as he mouths against his neck wetly. Everything is just  _ so much,  _ so overwhelming. Increasingly, it becomes difficult for Hux to collect his thoughts. It’s hard to think past how full he is, how much he needs to piss. It’s also hard to forget how hard he is, with Ren rocking up against him, biting his neck and threatening to defile him. 

“Ren,” Hux warns, though he knows by the increasing urgency in Ren’s movements that the other man has absolutely no intention of letting him escape. The only way out of this is becoming increasingly clear: Hux must give in. He must debase himself.

A shudder runs down his body, causing him to groan and shake against Ren. 

Despite everything, Ren keeps the hint of force suggestion out of his voice. Not one of his words since the glass of water has been laced with it, which is both commendable and highly frustrating. 

“Come on, Hux,” Ren begs in his ear. He is pleading in the way that Hux should be, in the way Hux  _ wants _ to be. It’s not fair, the ease with which Ren can succumb to his filthiest desires. “Let go. Let go for me.”

For a brief moment Ren presses down firmly and digs his fingers in in such a way that Hux’s body can no longer endure. He feels the exact moment he breaks, even if it is for a split second. He gasps and bucks his hips, fingers pulling at Ren’s rough robes as he feels the small spurt of piss seeping into his trousers. Unbidden, without his control. It’s not much, but it is so dreadfully embarrassing. He can feel his face flush, a blush spreading down his entire body. 

_ “Stars”, _ he chokes out, feeling the shudder in his own voice. That brief moment of release had felt so kriffing  _ good _ . He knows his knuckles are white with how tight he is gripping at Ren’s clothes, but he doesn’t know how else to hold on, what else to do. If he cannot hold onto his dignity, he might as well hold onto Ren and not let go.

Ren smiles -- Hux can feel it against his neck when Ren mouths against his skin. There is a distinct cadence to his breathing that sounds utterly and terribly pleased with himself. He takes his time, slowly rocking against Hux, rutting up against him like a filthy animal -- and all Hux can do at this point is  _ enjoy it _ . Because it is enjoyable, even if Hux hates it -- because Ren knows him well enough apparently to know exactly how to get under his skin. How to rile him up in the most atrocious of ways. How to make Hux hard enough that he’s aching and dripping.

“Stars, Hux. I can  _ feel _ it.” Ren practically slams him against the wall, pushing his leg up and up until Hux is practically riding Ren’s thigh. It’s obscene, being positioned like this, riding over Ren’s knee like a child. It’s obscene, knowing that Kylo Ren can feel Hux’s failure through his robes. It’s obscene, knowing Ren wants more from him. “So filthy,” Ren murmurs, straight into Hux’s ear. “So kriffing depraved. Look at you, General. Where is your control?”

Hux chokes, his heartbeat skipping in his chest. Now that he has lost some of his control, who is Ren -- who took the control away in the first place -- to rub it in that he has none left? It’s infuriating. Or -- it should be, if the words hadn’t gone straight to his cock. He feels shamed,  _ humiliated _ , and entirely without authority. Hux is now in Ren’s hands. And instead of treating Hux with care, Ren is thumbing at bruises Hux didn’t know he had. 

“Ren,” Hux manages. He is so full, so close to breaking that even talking feels like too much. 

“Look at the mess you made.” Ren’s fingers knead into the skin above Hux’s bladder again. Warm, hot, invasive. Hux shudders out a hot breath. “Come on, Hux. Let go. Piss yourself for me. I’ve got you,  _ General _ .” 

Hux’s body gives him no warning this time. The humiliation had made him gasp and groan, and the words had made his hips buck, seeking friction. Before he knows it, he feels his body give in to release in the only way it knows. Warmth spreads out over the crotch of his trousers, seeping into his clothes. The ache of it is indescribable -- and the sensation of release is like nothing he has ever felt before. It is both freeing and desperately humiliating. And -- it simply keeps coming. It’s not like the brief moment of reprieve he felt earlier; he has no hope of stopping himself now.

“Yes, Hux, so good.” Ren presses up against him, holding him to the wall with steady pressure. His fingers still knead and press into Hux’s belly, hot and unyielding. Ren rocks into him again, and Hux is suddenly reminded how Ren’s clothes must be steadily being soaked through by Hux’s own piss. The thought has him biting back a whimper and attempting to force down the shame that he feels. 

“You’re so good. Just like that.” Ren’s words are a steady mantra in his ear -- somehow comforting when they were embarrassing mere moments ago. 

Before Hux can feel the complete relief of an empty bladder, Ren is fumbling. He moves about until he starts pushing a hand down Hux’s pants -- while Hux is still relieving himself. Hux chokes out a protest, aggressively  attempting to push Ren’s hand out of his soiled trousers, but he is not capable, drunk and tired and lustful as he is. His body gives in before his brain does, allowing Ren to wrap his fingers around Hux’s still leaking cock.

It’s vile.

It’s disgusting.

It is the most carnal act Hux has ever participated in, and it’s also the most aroused he has ever felt. He cannot see straight, cannot think coherently. In defeat, he wraps his arms around Ren’s wide shoulders, biting off his groans into Ren’s neck. 

It’s difficult, so difficult to piss with how hard Ren’s hand is making him, but his body manages to finish the task with satisfaction. Hux groans as he feels the last of it wrung out of him by expert fingers. His thoughts are thick with the shame of it, the fact that he just defiled himself over Ren’s knee, all over both of their clothes. He moans, pulling back to catch Ren’s lips in a messy, brutal kiss. It’s perhaps even more humiliating how few strokes it takes before Hux is groaning like a whore into Ren’s mouth and coming all over piss-slick fingers. His limbs shake with the force of the orgasm, and he can do little more than pant and clutch at Ren’s robes while he comes down from the sensation. 

Ren kisses him thoroughly, lazy with it. For a moment, Hux indulges himself in the exercise. It’s easy to fold to this whim of Ren’s, with the steady and pleasing weight of another body against his own. After a moment, though, the unfamiliar weight of his clothes becomes too difficult to ignore. When Hux puts two hands on Ren’s chest and pushes him backwards, of course Ren goes. He steps backwards with eyebrows raised, as if he could have moved the whole time. As if he wasn’t keeping Hux there at all. 

Hux will allow himself to be infuriated later. For now, he only has one singular thought:

“Shower.” Hux’s tone leaves no room for argument. 


	3. part ii: the tide falls

Sometimes, when Kylo breathes in, all he can taste is fire. There is no overwhelming release of oxygen hitting his system, just the raging inferno of the universe burning on his tongue.

As a child, it had scared him.

Waking up in the middle of the night, consumed by flames, by life, by death. Now -- it is a simple part of his existence. He has learned to cherish the familiar feeling of it, to draw his fingers through the licking flames, to draw the blaze toward him. To take power from it.

Everyone must have something to steady themselves. Most of the people in the universe have friends, family, loved ones. The troopers have their training. General Hux has his order, his routines. Kylo’s rock amidst the storm, against the pull of chaos is simply the lifeforce of the universe.

He enjoys the comforting thrum of it in his veins. It is always there when he looks for it, behind every action, behind every reaction. It is louder, more tangible behind moments of intense emotion. When Kylo lets himself fall victim to the turbulent swell of it, when he gets caught up in the vicious downward spiral -- it is all he can feel. All he can hear. All he can live. The force is like a drug; it is a mighty wave, and Kylo is mere debris to be pulled along by the current.

It is perhaps why, sometimes, he instigates and provokes situations until they burn alive, licked and touched by the flames of the force.

There is a comfort in watching everything turn to ash around him.

\--

“Leave me,” Ren snarls. He can barely get the words out over the ash he tastes on his tongue. His mouth is dry. His teeth stick to his lips, leaving his mouth feeling animalistic. He knows he looks it, doesn’t need to see it reflected in Hux’s gaze.

The General doesn’t move. He just falls into something akin to parade rest by the door to Kylo’s quarters.

Hux looks around at the destruction and eventually tuts, never meeting Kylo’s gaze. “What a mess you’ve made, Ren.” It doesn’t matter, though. These are Kylo’s rooms and he can do with them what he likes. At least this time, he kept the destruction reigned in, focused on a single point of his own choosing instead of lashing out at important instruments of the First Order. For once, he had not wished to evoke Hux’s wrath. He had not wished to be scolded like a child.

And yet, here Hux is: crossing his arms like a disappointed elder, looking at Kylo as if he had only expected him to crumble. Of course, Kylo cannot be surprised -- he often rains destruction down upon an important or key area when he wishes for Hux’s attention. It is a foolproof method. But -- it has also left Hux with perhaps an inflated idea of Kylo’s temper.

Hux does not understand the pure rush of release that comes from giving in to such a primal eruption of anger. He doesn’t understand, nor likely feel, that sort of violent emotion at all.

“Get **_out_ **.” Kylo breathes heavy, his shoulders heaving with the effort to reign himself in. He has every intent of provoking Hux until he snaps. Kylo can feel his lightsaber pulsing in his hand, can feel the need to strike, to lash out. But all he can see is Hux, and there’s still a small part of him that doesn’t wish to hurt the man, not now, anyway.

The mission had gone poorly. All Kylo wants to do is get lost in the storm of the force. He needs to feel it burning in his veins. He needs it to consume him. He needs to not think about his failure.

He needs Hux to leave so that he can feel the inferno again.

Hux does not leave.

Instead, Hux heaves a world-weary sigh and crosses his arms in front of his chest, breaking his military stance. “Are you quite done, Ren?” He asks, as one would ask a child about their tantrum. As one might ask a dog, after it acted out against its master. Hux is _not_ Kylo Ren’s master, no matter how much he dares act like it.

“Come here,” Hux orders, with a slight decline of his head.

Hux may not be Kylo’s master -- but Kylo finds himself yielding to Hux’s whims anyway.

Perhaps it is the crook of Hux’s hand, as he draws two fingers down Kylo’s mask as if it were skin. Perhaps it is the firm set to Hux’s shoulders. Perhaps it is simply that Kylo is weak. It doesn’t matter the reason, in the end. What is important is that he folds, that he allows Hux to push and push until Kylo is the one giving in.

He tells himself that it is because it is the only option currently at hand.

Hux gestures toward the small living space apportioned to the side of the quarters. He doesn’t quite push Kylo in that direction, but he ushers him there with carefully calculated movements. “Sit.” He says, and so Kylo does.

“Take off your helmet.” Kylo slides it off easily at Hux’s command.

“Drink,” Hux says, and sets a cup of water on the table in front of him. “The whole thing.” Kylo hadn’t even noticed Hux pouring it -- and yet he must have just done so: beads of condensation drip slowly down the side and onto his fingers. It’s cold, fresh against Kylo’s tongue when he drinks in long gulps. It feels a bit like absolution, a gift. The cold of it is numbing. It’s nothing like the inferno of the force, but it is so very Hux, and so Kylo treasures the feeling.

Eventually Hux’s eyes slip toward Kylo in a more appraising manner, sliding over every inch of him with a calculating, inspecting glance.

Kylo already feels more at ease.

He should feel edgy, anxious that Hux is looking at him as if to find fault, but there is always something about Hux’s mannerisms that is somewhat calming to Kylo. Hux is orderly, efficient, and overwhelmingly stable. Hux’s mind is a structured place, as are his emotions. Standing next to Hux is like standing next to a smoothly lapping ocean with gentle tides -- there is nothing to shock or surprise.

“You are always such a mess, Ren.” Hux sounds resigned, but fond. Perhaps Kylo is reading into the tone too much, but it doesn’t really matter; if he takes solace in something that doesn’t exist, it is inconsequential. It is only for him. “Have more water. You’re dehydrated.”

Kylo evaluates the spinning, pressing feeling in his head and deems Hux correct. Definitely dehydrated. When was the last time he had anything to drink -- was it before his mission? He nods curtly, and takes the second offered glass. This time, he had watched Hux pour it, easy and methodical. Everything Hux does is soothing in its simplicity, even if he is one of the most brash, abrasive people Kylo has ever known. It is easy to fold himself into the simplicity with which Hux views the universe, easy to let Hux sometimes take control.

The water is cold but without ice, and he can feel every inch of it as he swallows it down.

Hux watches Kylo and smiles with a subtle crook to the left corner of his lips.

They sit in silence. Hux fills Kylo’s glass whenever it empties and pushes it back toward Kylo without a word. Kylo doesn’t need a verbal command to understand an order when he sees one. And, since Hux will not let him destroy the ship in search of the absolving and destructive whirlwind of the force, this is Kylo’s only current option for peace.

Of course, he would prefer to feel the tear of durasteel coming apart under his saber. He would even more prefer the rend of sinew and bone underneath his fingertips. But -- those are not currently options available to Kylo, as much as he occasionally fantasizes about ripping Hux apart, piece by piece, with his own hands. He would need no lightsaber at the ready -- he would simply pull and rip and tear, until he could feel the crack and pop of bones and tendons breaking. His hands would be slick and dripping with blood; and then Kylo would bring his fingers to his lips like a sacrament and taste Hux on him, metallic and sweet. Kylo would reverently savor Hux, would commit his taste to memory, would cleanse himself with it. The moment would be perfect, if only too temporary to be fully worth it.

Hux clears his throat. “Ren.”

Kylo looks up. He blinks, feeling the way his eyes had glazed over momentarily whilst staring into his glass of water. He says nothing, suddenly fearful -- and hopeful -- that Hux had known what he was thinking. It’s too much to ask, of course, but for a wild moment of fancy he thinks it might have been nice to share in that fantasy.

“You were gone for a moment there. Drink. Hydrate yourself.” Hux sighs and sits back in his chair, arms crossed and looking resigned once more. “I can’t believe you are so inept that I have to take care of you like this.”

To an extent, Kylo knows that to be true. But he also knows that Hux has no obligation to be here. If the man wanted to be elsewhere, he would be. Hux doesn’t feel an obligation to have to take care of Kylo, to watch out for him, or to steady him when he becomes unstable. And yet -- he still does. Here Hux is, sitting across from Kylo after one of Kylo’s many outbursts, making sure he finds his steady footing once again.

Unfortunately, finding steadiness Hux’s way takes far longer than it would if Hux would simply let Kylo do this his own way. The call of the force is a strong one and Kylo can still feel the need for it coursing through his veins. The need to succumb to the chaos is an overwhelming one -- if only Hux could feel it, too. Then he would understand. Then, perhaps, he would let Kylo have his release.

“Drink, Ren.” Kylo does, even if he is not so thirsty as before.

Eventually, Hux replaces the glasses of water with something else, something sweet. It’s some kind of nectar, saccharine and pleasing to the tongue. Full. It brings on a specific kind of lightness in first his fingers, then his limbs, that eventually finds its way to Kylo’s head in the most pleasing of ways. There’s no bite of alcohol to it, so Kylo isn’t sure what causes the dizziness, the pleasure of intoxication -- but he doesn’t question it.

Kylo looks to Hux, who emanates an aura of _pleased_ \-- and so Kylo keeps drinking.

On his second cup, his head starts spinning.

“Hux,” Kylo says. He looks down into the opaque glass and sees a small ocean. It looks soft, warm, inviting. He wishes he could be enveloped in it, that he could fold himself in to the viscous, saccharine liquid -- breathe it in and drown in it. Kylo says Hux’s name again, unsure exactly what he’s asking for.

“How are you feeling, Ren?”

Kylo tilts the glass and watches as the fluid moves sideways. It is a soft blue and it leaves memories of itself on the opposite side from where it shifts. It tastes like spun sugar, like a fruit he cannot remember from his childhood. It dissolves like rain on his tongue. It tastes like Hux: metallic and familiar.

“Ren?”

“Good,” he answers, the word tumbling from his lips before he can register it. He does feel good, now that he thinks about it. Suddenly and abruptly, he realizes he is no longer longing for the destructive and alluring inferno of the force. He is simply -- existing. In the moment and content. “Good,” he repeats, taking another sip of his drink.

Hux smiles, bigger this time than before. More free. “Good,” he tells Kylo.

When Kylo pushes himself out of his chair on light limbs and crowds Hux against his own chair, the movement comes easy and Hux’s lips taste sour against the sweetness of his own. Hux tastes like blood, like ozone, like a blazing inferno. He tastes like deadly calm. Like the fiery birth of the universe.

Like everything Kylo has ever wanted or needed.

Hux doesn’t push him away, for once. He opens his body and lets Kylo crawl on top of him. Hux lets Kylo straddle his small hips and graciously shares his warmth. Instead of kissing Hux, Kylo buries his face in the man’s neck. He bites and licks at pale and freckled skin, tasting it like he can’t get enough. Unsurprisingly, Hux tastes like sweat, like lists and agendas and tasks completed; he tastes like a job done satisfactorily.

He tastes like salvation.  

Kylo doesn’t know how long he kisses Hux for, but he gets lost in it. He kisses Hux until his lips hurt, until he can feel spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. He can feel the scratch of stubble against his own cheeks and lips, he can feel the painful pull of raw skin against skin. He keeps going until he’s dizzy with it, until he’s hard and aching and grinding against Hux.

He kisses Hux until Hux pushes him away.

“Go lie down on the bed.”

Kylo balks. His face is burning. His blood is practically boiling in his veins, attempting to evaporate from inside him. He doesn’t _want_ to go to the bed if Hux is not going to follow him, and he’s making no moves to get up. Kylo wants to keep kissing Hux. He wants to get lost in it again, like he’d been before, before Hux pushed him back with two strong hands to his chest. Hux’s fingers are still curled into Kylo’s robes, but they quickly disentangle the second Kylo looks down at them.

“Ren,” Hux warns. He doesn’t say anything more, but Kylo knows what it means. If he doesn’t go, doesn’t follow Hux’s orders, Hux will leave. And Kylo doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be left alone with a need and a yearning for the force and a dizziness in his head that Hux put there with his over-sweet drinks.

And so Kylo goes.

“Face down, arms crossed over your head.”

And so he does. He arranges himself with legs splayed and arms crossed over his head, like a military prisoner. He knows this pose because he’s seen Hux demand it before in real life scenarios. They are in the midst of war.

Hux leaves him there for a long time.

Eventually, Kylo lets his mind drift. He floats away, riding the ripples of the force like a tide, letting himself get pulled away by the gentle current of it. He floats and drifts and washes away until he loses himself in the moment. The thrum of the universe is constant around him. His body is a steady, beating pulse within it, another enduring part of the symphony of time.

He comes to when Hux draws a hand up his spine, over his robes. The sensation prickles in a pleasant way, creeping up his spine and setting off fireworks at the base of his skull.

“Ren,” Hux says, gentle, as if he is waking him from a long slumber. Kylo hadn’t been asleep. He’d been -- meditating, perhaps. Lost in the universe.

“How are you feeling,” Hux asks, as he strips Kylo from most of his clothing. Expertly, he unfastens Kylo’s robes, pulling them away from his body and likely folding them to the side. He leaves Kylo in his undergarments and his trousers. As loose fitting and comfortable as they are, he’d prefer Hux strip him all the way, if he’s going about it -- but Hux stops there. He stops there as if that’s enough, as if he has a plan.

Kylo shudders. He’s not sure if it’s from the cold of the room hitting his bare skin, or the idea that he is simply playing a part for Hux -- a cog in the grand machine of Hux’s devising.

“Ren, how are you feeling?” Hux repeats, pushing his hand down more firmly against Kylo’s flank.

“Good,” he says. His head isn’t quite as light before, but it’s not back to normal. He still feels weightless, but he’s less -- high. He supposes that’s the most accurate word. “I’m good.”

“Tell me what you feel.”

Kylo assesses his body. He’s good at that. He’s good at categorizing need and want and desire -- it had been a serious part of his training -- both before and with Snoke. “I feel good. Less -- turbulent. The imbalance within me has subsided, corrected itself.” He breathes, and feels the air fill his lungs. He can both smell and taste Hux on his tongue. He’s giddy with it.

“I know that I still --” Kylo catches his breath, swallows, and then continues, “-- I know that I still failed. I failed my mission, but I will atone for my failures and I will try again. I will not fail. I will succeed.” He knows this, deep down within his heart. It resonates within him, a tone he cannot unhear. “I will not fail again.”

It is a promise.

“You _will_ fail again.” Hux says. The words are simple, spoken as a truth. So easy. “Everyone fails. Again and again and again. You, much the same, Ren. Despite the monster you paint yourself as, you are only human.”

Hux draws a gloved hand up Kylo’s spine. He traces over Kylo’s shoulder blades, then his neck, and then presses down on the space between, on his spine. “You must learn to deal with your failures, Ren. Just like the rest of us. You have to learn to accept them. To learn from them. To revel in them because they are yours. They are a part of you.” Hux takes off his leather glove in a motion Kylo can hear, and then scratches his fingernails down Kylo’s back without warning.

“You are a mess, Ren.” He pushes his nails into the space right between Kylo’s shoulder blades. “I will make you learn from this.”

Then, he walks away with nothing more than a, “ _stay_ ,” tossed vaguely in Kylo’s direction.  

Kylo stays.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears. The dizziness fades, slightly. The anticipation is palpable. Something is coming from Hux, but Kylo does not know what. A punishment of some sort, something he deserves.

Whenever he twitches a muscle, Hux tuts from somewhere behind him. “Be still,” he says. Kylo can imagine Hux pulling up a chair to the edge of the bed. He’s probably poured himself a whiskey and is carefully sipping at it while catching up on work on his datapad. He could even be catching up on news on the holonet. Whatever it is -- it doesn’t matter -- because Hux’s attention is still focused on Kylo, and that’s all that’s important.

Kylo drifts.

His twitches and sudden movements become less frequent. His thoughts quiet. His heartbeat slows.

Eventually, Hux pulls him from this state again. Gentle fingertips run down his spine, sending shivers rippling down his flesh. Kylo makes a noise of approval in his throat and Hux laughs, soft and brief. “Tell me what you feel,” he says. Hux is always assessing the situation -- Kylo has come to expect that from him.

“I feel -- calm. Relaxed.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Subdued.” Kylo would not necessarily normally choose that word to describe himself, but he knows that Hux would.

“Good. Is that it?”

“I --” Kylo pauses, taking stock of his body, of his situation. He accounts for each of his bodily processes, evaluating in turn, and eventually comes up with a momentary flaw. “I need to use the refresher.” He can feel the flush rise on his cheeks and is glad that his face is hidden in the bed. Hux had been plying him with liquids, and the inevitable had happened. It had only been a matter of time.

His stomach drops slightly. Disappointment flows through his veins.

It is a rude embarrassment to realize that this bodily need puts a hitch in whatever plans Hux has. Kylo will have to get up, will have to go relieve himself -- and by the time he is back on the bed, the quiet contentment of the moment will be lost. The magic will be gone. Of course, they can still continue -- and probably will -- but Kylo knows that something about the encounter will be lacking. All of the peace Hux had helped him find will no longer be within arm’s reach.

Kylo moves to push himself up from the mattress, two hands underneath him. His limbs are still loose and his head is dizzy, but the press of urgency in his abdomen is difficult to ignore now that he has recognized it.

A firm hand placed in the middle of his back halts his progress, presses him back down to the bed.

“What?” Kylo asks, voice muffled by blankets and mattress. He can feel Hux nearby, the heat of him, hovering at the side of the bed. Close enough to touch, but never quite close enough. He would not be close enough even if Kylo were to consume him alive.

“No,” Hux says. “Stay.” An order, albeit a confusing one.

Kylo makes a noise of protest in his throat, thinking of the press of his bladder that is now unforgettable. He can focus on nothing else. “Hux,” he says, turning his head to the side so he can at least see the long lines of Hux, the way he fits so perfectly into his immaculate uniform. “Hux -- I need to go.” It’s embarrassing. He can’t remember the last time he felt the hot flush of humiliation in his cheeks like this. He’s never had to express this need to anyone else before, other than as a child.

The weight pressing down against his spine does not lessen. In fact, Hux may in fact press down harder. Kylo feels his spine crack under the pressure; briefly he relishes the release that comes with it. “You are human, Ren. You will fail, and you must learn to live with your deficiencies.” Hux’s thumb presses against a sore muscle, rubbing against a knot until Kylo lets out a soft groan.

Kylo doesn’t understand. The sentiment is an easy one. He knows he has years of personal growth to catch up on and so many inadequacies to work on -- he knows that he must learn to accept failure and to grow from it. But he doesn’t understand why this is the lesson Hux feels necessary to impart right now, why he cannot simply remind Kylo of this later, after he has relieved himself.

“Hux, I need to go.”

“Then go.”

The weight on his back has not lessened, only moved down his spine to his lower back. A firm, warm hand held solid right above his pelvis. Hux’s strength is not enough to keep Kylo pressed down to the bed if Kylo truly wants to get up -- but the meaning is clear: Hux does not want to let him up. And right now, Kylo wants what Hux wants -- he just wants to know why. Does Hux intend this to be a test, to see how long Kylo’s resolve lasts? How long he can deprive himself of a basic human function simply because Hux asks it of him? Does Hux want him to fight, to defy and to let himself up anyway?

Kylo doesn’t understand, and he says as much with a disgruntled sound. A questioned whine of frustration that is half lost in blankets.

He rolls his hips and immediately regrets it. The movement feels _too good_ with the weight of his bladder urgent and heavy inside him. He stifles a moan and Hux laughs. The sound, unfortunately, goes straight to Kylo’s cock.

The second time he rocks his hips, thrusting against the mattress, he blames Hux’s hand for holding him down The gesture, the continued pressure, forces him against the bed, and for the mattress to push up against his bladder in turn. It’s maddening. Humiliating.

“I need to go.” Kylo tries to push himself up again, only for Hux to tut and click his tongue.

“I told you, Ren. If you need to go, then go.”

Realization hits him like a lead weight. Hux is -- not telling him to get up. Hux is telling him to let go, right here in his bed, stomach-down on the sheets. Kylo flushes red, so dark that he can feel his whole body heating up with the embarrassment of it. _Stars_ , how can Hux ask that of him? He’s not a child, not that out of control.

When it becomes clear that Kylo understands, Hux laughs again. Deep and breathy. He’s clearly enjoying himself -- Kylo doesn’t need to reach out with the tendrils of the force to know that -- it’s in the air, in Hux’s voice, flowing through Hux’s touch. He’s delighted.

“I told you, Ren. You must learn to deal with your deficiencies, your failures, your _messes_.”

Hux leans down, putting all of his weight onto his hand, spread flat against Kylo’s lower back. The pressure pushes Ren’s hips down against the bed, rocking his half-hard cock against the mattress. It also forces the weight of his bladder to shove hard against the barely-yielding bed, reminding Kylo just how full he is. The pressure of it is acute, aching, and altogether shockingly pleasurable.

“You must learn to relish them.” Hux’s voice is sharp in Kylo’s ear.  While he speaks, he works Kylo’s trousers and undergarments down around his thighs until his ass is exposed to the cold air of the room. “You must defile yourself like the mess that you are, and then you are going to immerse yourself in it until you can learn to cope with your failures. Stop wallowing and throwing tantrums like a child. You will deal with it.”

When he finishes biting out the last word, Hux unexpectedly and swiftly brings his palm down over Kylo’s bare ass. Hard. The sound of the smack is loud, and the pain is sudden and sharp. Kylo groans against the sheets, his hips bucking both toward and away from the sting of it. Before Kylo can recover, Hux smacks his ass again -- the other side this time. The sound rings into the silence of the room. Now that it is at least vaguely expected, Kylo can begin to focus on the pleasure of it, instead of the shock.

“Hux,” he groans into the sheets, spit gathering in the corners of his lips, threatening to drip out. He could choke on it, suffocate on the pleasure of this feeling. Coupled with the stretch of his aching bladder, the sensations are beginning to grow overwhelming. “Please,” he’s not even sure what he’s asking for.

More.

Or -- permission, maybe.

Kylo flushes at the idea, once Hux brings his hand back down again with a _smack_ and then immediately palms Kylo’s stinging cheek. Each slap sends him rocking into the bed, his abdomen tight against the sheets. It’s beginning to become hard to hold it in, to keep the pressure from spilling over. The floodgates can only last so long and Kylo is a crumbling wall of flimsy resolve.

Again and again, Hux slaps him. _Spanks_ him. Unrelenting -- and yet strangely gentle. Like the rolling of waves: unforgiving, rhythmic, and without emotion.

It’s hard for Kylo to keep his head above the water. Eventually Kylo lets himself drown in it. In the sensation, and in Hux’s calm presence. Kylo is swept away with the tide and it is beautiful, just how easy it is to succumb to the unforgiving pull of nature.

“Hux,” he says, because he has no god to call out to, only Hux. Always Hux.

Another smack. Harder, and his hips rock violently against the bed. His bladder screams with the need for release. Kylo nearly screams, too -- instead, he mouths at the sheets below him, already wet with drool. There are tears threatening to leak from his eyes. He can feel the bead of precome leaking from the tip of his cock as he ruts against the bed. Everything is wet. Everything reminds him of an inevitable release.

The idea of letting go is shameful, but Kylo knows it’s what Hux wants. And Hux will persevere until he gets what he wants -- Kylo also knows that. Hux has the endless sort of patience that Kylo doesn’t. And -- Kylo could stop all this, if he wanted. He could use his greater strength to throw Hux off, to subdue the other man with his fists and his saber, but Kylo doesn’t want to. He deserves this; he wants to take his punishment, to relish in it and to learn from it. He wants Hux to deliver his sentence and he wants to wallow in it, to bask in his failure.

“Let go,” Hux says. And with one last smack, Kylo does.

He feels the moment his body yields to Hux’s order, the second his resolve slips. The urgency in his bladder fades quickly into gratifying relief as he feels the warmth creep in underneath him, the wetness. The release starts slowly, a meager trickle; then quickly escalates into a rush, the bursting of a dam. Kylo groans, hips thrusting against the bed in both an effort to stop himself, and in a perverse rush to feel _more_ of it.

The space underneath his hips grows wet and filthy, and yet it still keeps coming.

He’s never felt so full, and has never felt quite so satisfied. It’s euphoric, giving in to his human impulses like this. Kylo feels defiled, dirty -- a mess. He grinds his hips against the piss-wet mattress, mouth open and gasping with his own pleasure. Kylo’s half-hard cock rocks into his own wetness. Hux is above him, talking, coaxing him through the whole thing with words of simultaneous comfort and humiliation.

 _Good_ , Hux says.

 _You’re a mess_ , he says.

 _You’re all mine_ , he promises, a hand firmly on Kylo’s ass, helping to rut against the bed like an animal. Making him. _Such a disaster, Ren. Such a failure. -- Stars, you are so beautiful like this._

Kylo pants wetly, raggedly, when he feels the stream of piss begin to lessen. Hux coaxes the last of it out of him, shoving him down hard against the bed. Kylo’s cock hardens fully, in shame and need, so hard that his desire hurts.

“Please, Hux,” Kylo pleads, unsure what he’s even asking for anymore. He wants more, wants to come, wants everything. He needs degradation and humiliation, and he wants Hux to forgive him for his transgressions, to absolve him of his sins. “Please,” he sobs, hips rutting against the soiled sheets, soggy and dripping with his own mess. His cock slides against them as his hips hump at the bed: disgusting.

“Come, Ren.” Hux says, like it’s easy, like Kylo is anywhere close to release. Hux presses down against his ass harder, cupping one of his sore cheeks with a strong hand until his flesh burns.

“I’m not -- not -- Hux, _please_ ,” it’s unfair, what Hux is asking of him. Impossible. Kylo nearly cries, sobbing with the need for relief. He has had so much stimulation that his body is buzzing with it, over-sensitive and needy. He has to come -- he feels like he might die, instead.

Hux laughs, low and scornful, and the sound goes straight to Kylo’s loins. It burns within him, heating up his flesh, making it just how apparent the wet sheets are, cooling all around him. It’s too much. “Filthy, Ren. You are a pathetic disaster, a failure, a tragedy.”

Hux swats him once more, hard and decisive, “Come,” he orders, and Kylo does.

The world around him explodes in pleasure. It runs through his veins, burning and absolving and beautiful. The thrum of release is deafening, and for a long moment it is all Kylo hears.

When it fades, when Kylo comes back into his own head, Hux is there right next to him, soothing gentle hands over Kylo’s sweating back. Hux’s hands are warm, but they feel cooling, comforting. It is as if Hux is tucking Kylo back into his skin again, smoothing out all the ragged edges like wet palms running over misshapen clay. Hux is masterful, merciful.

“Good boy,” Hux says, and Kylo is reborn under his fingertips.

 _Thank you,_ he mouths against the sheets, unsure whether he said the words aloud, or just thought them loudly enough for Hux to hear.

“How are you feeling now?” Hux’s fingers have moved, and now they are brushing damp hair from Kylo’s forehead. The gesture is very nearly affectionate, and it makes Kylo feel light, airy. Hux is sitting next to him, warm and close and steady.

“Good,” Kylo says. And he does. He feels reborn, free. He feels like his mistakes are behind him, but are still tangible enough to learn from. “Absolved.” He no longer feels the overwhelming need to find the force and wallow in the flames of it.

When Hux catches Kylo’s spit-slick lips in a kiss, it feels like the universe is at peace around them both, full of potential and wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have enough apologies for this fic. 
> 
> thank you to [mollynoble](http://mollynoble.tumblr.com), for being an amazing person as per usual and looking over this disaster for me.
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](http://brawlite.tumblr.com), if you are so inclined.


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